


with a sunken lie i lay in bed

by orphan_account



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Band, Bipolar Disorder, Established Relationship, M/M, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-19 23:48:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9466070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Pete and Joe are both fucked up. Joe remembers telling him he's a freak, that he has obsessive compulsive disorder when they were just friends. Pete remembers attempting suicide on a cold night in 2005 and letting all of his friends know he's bipolar and a mess.A fic centered around Joe's OCD and how this affects his relationship with Pete, his long time boyfriend.





	

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: i dont have ocd myself and i didnt make that much research so im sorry for any inaccuracies. 
> 
> enjoy.

Pete and Joe are both fucked up. Joe remembers telling him he's a freak, that he has obsessive compulsive disorder when they were just friends. Pete remembers attempting suicide on a cold night in 2005 and letting all of his friends know he's bipolar and a mess.

Pete is still attending therapy and taking mood stabilizers, though, unlike Joe. Joe just goes to his psychiatrist every two months and lies about how good he's doing with a fake smile on his face. Joe has medication, but his compulsions and his intrusive thoughts are still there, clear as water.

It's also worth mentioning how Pete doesn't have to deal with the stress of day jobs. He's a writer, a very successful one at that, and he probably has enough money to pay rent for both of them. Joe is stubborn, though, and he goes to work as a waiter in a prestigious restaurant in the center of Chicago.

It's a normal day for both of them. Pete has a book in the works and Joe just showered and dressed up, so he's ready for work in a few hours. Pete sighs as they eat his poorly made lunch. Joe never complains about it, even though Pete knows he hates his food.

Joe goes to the bathroom and he turns on the water before putting on soap. He washes his hands over and over, five times, until they're raw and pink. He doesn't want any germs, he could get an infection (that's not how that works, and he knows that, but—). He hears Pete asking what's taking him so long and he finally turns the water off. He sighs.

Pete sees the pinkness of Joe's hands but he doesn't say anything. He usually never does. It's better and Joe prefers it that way; he hates being questioned because of his compulsions.

"Can we watch a movie before you leave?" Pete asks. Joe nods wordlessly, his finger tapping against his jeans. It seems almost robotic, and he can almost hear Joe counting the numbers in his head. He wants to hold him, make all the thoughts go away.

Pete puts on Now You See Me and Joe ends up laying on his side. He's snoring by the middle of the movie, his face so much more relaxed than a few minutes ago. Pete threads his fingers through his boyfriend's hair and he sighs. He wants him to feel better. He wants him to be safe, to be comfortable.

Pete wishes Joe would tell his psychiatrist the truth. Pete wishes Joe would attend therapy again.

After the movie ends, it's six and a half in the afternoon, and Pete knows it's Joe's working hour. "Joe, Joe," he says, and Joe opens his blue, beautiful eyes. "You got work."

Joe nods and he smooths his clothes out before taking his phone and leaving.

When Pete hears the ding of the elevator, Pete gets up and goes to his laptop. He wonders if Joe's typed this out on his phone, too, but with bipolar disorder.

"how to help a loved one with ocd". He knows he can't _cure_ it, he knows that's stupid. He's had enough exes who thought once they got together his mental illnesses would go away. He just wants to help Joe, wants to let him know it's alright.

After not finding anything good he goes to the document for his book. The blank page is menacing, and he knows he can't do it. His mind is stirring and he sighs as he turns off his laptop.

Pete hates taking his medication. It tastes bitter and it reminds him too much of 2005 and his suicide attempt. He chucks the one 40mg pill he has to take and he swallows it with some water. He closes his eyes and he knows he's not any better off than Joe.

Meanwhile, Joe is at work. He feels more anxious than ever, especially considering he forgot to take his midday pills. His mind is attacking him with images of killing Patrick, and he knows he'd never do that, but what if. He almost trips on his own feet as he brings a meal to a customer.

He tries not to count his steps, he tries not to fret. He ends up managing to not trip or scream or mutter words under his breath. He hasn't gone to therapy in ages, but the memory of her saying to count to twenty, thirty, fourty, remains. One, two, three... he murmurs, his voice low and his eyes on the floor.

"What are you saying, boy?" one of the head waiters says to him, and he stops right in his tracks. Joe looks up to him and chews on his lip. "Anything wrong?"

Joe sighs, almost in relief. "N-no, I'm alright." The waiter nods and Joe continues with his work.

He thinks of Pete— he hopes he took his nightly pills, because otherwise he's likely to start a manic episode or a depressive one. He's seen Pete in episodes before, and it's not a pretty sight. Pete when manic is a pure ball of energy, sleeping even less and writing nonstop. Pete when depressed is hollow and his cheeks seem sunken as he sleeps and sleeps, the entire day on the bed.

Joe bites his lip as his shift ends. He goes and leaves to their house, the walk lonely. It's eleven p.m. and there's not much people in the street. When he gets home, he sees Pete is fast asleep in their bed.

Joe is quick to go to the bedroom and strip down. He puts some pajamas on and he gets into bed, kissing Pete's temple. The older boy moves around, but he's smiling. Joe wishes his own smile met his eyes like Pete's did.

He's about to fall asleep when he thinks that maybe he didn't lock the door. His eyes snap open and he gets off bed, puts shoes on and sees the door is locked. He sighs and goes back. But what if you actually didn't? A robber will get in. He gets up again.

The cycle repeats until Pete's eyes open in the darkness. "Joe," he hisses, barely audible. "Stop." Joe looks back to him, flinching a bit. Pete pats his side of the bed and Joe shakes his head. "It's _locked_, baby," Pete tells him.

Joe chews on his lip. "But—" he starts. He's shaking oh so slightly and he has a not so firm grasp on the door. Pete raises an eyebrow and Joe knows he won't be able to sleep if he doesn't check it's locked again. He sighs and he gets in bed again, Pete's lips meeting his neck and his hands meeting his waist.

"It'll be okay, baby, don't worry," Pete says, soft, comforting. Joe tries not to cry as he starts moving, the thought of robbers getting in the house attacking him whenever he closes his eyes. He falls asleep what feels like hours later, and he wakes up to the smell of toast and eggs.

Joe rubs the sleep off his eyes as he gets up and sits in the dining table. Pete puts the toast and the scrambled eggs on a plate in front of him, and he kisses him before getting his own. Joe starts eating, and it's pretty decent. Again, one can't really mess up toast and eggs.

"Pete?" Joe starts once Pete is sitting down.

"Hm?"

"How's your new book going?" he asks, and Pete's eyes seem to light up. He starts rambling about the characters and the setting and Joe listens and asks the right things on the right time, and Pete loves Joe's smile. The fact that it's honest but yet it doesn't meet his eyes is kind of depressing, but Pete hasn't seen a full face smile on Joe since a few months ago.

"Joe, I was also thinking..." Pete starts, his voice a bit too quiet. Joe strains his ear and then the older boy clears his throat. "You should start going to therapy again."

Joe knows he can't lie to Pete and tell him he's fine. He's seen him check the door ten times, he's seen his pink, raw hands after washing them over and over. He's seen count his steps and he's seen him in the border of a breakdown. There's no point in lying when he knows the truth. "I-I guess."

Therapy has never been a friend of Joe's. He lies, and the thought of pouring his heart out to a complete stranger is repulsive to him. He pretends he's fine so they move their appointments from weekly to every two weeks and so forth.

"I know you lie about everything during therapy, Joe," he says, almost sneering. Joe straightens up, because it's almost as if Pete read his mind. "But you have to try. It can help you."

"I guess," Joe says, his voice empty. Pete pulls his plate away and he takes Joe's hand in his. They end up spooning in the couch, Joe as the little spoon even though he's three inches taller than Pete. He likes to be comforted like that.

When he turns around, he almost falls, but he starts kissing Pete. It's soft and simple at first, but the kisses grow sloppier as their lips swell. Pete ends up pushing him away, even though there's a sad understanding in his whiskey eyes.

Not even Joe understands what does this compulsion stem from by when they go back to a spooning position. Joe dislikes his obsessive compulsive brain, and Pete hates his bipolar mind.

Pete gets up to get water and he drinks some of it with his pills. Joe takes his pills too, even though all they do is make him feel like a zombie and be a shell of a human.

A week later, Joe has scheduled an appointment with a therapist. Her name is a blur in his memory but he knows she's the only therapist for adults in the medical center so he should be fine. He finds it weird how there are so many child and teen therapists but for adults there aren't as much. He thinks that maybe adults's minds are a deeper hole that no one wants to dive into.

A stupid thought, he thinks a few hours later. His first appointment is on the next day, and the entire day kind of blends together before he goes home. Pete kisses him and tells him he's proud of him for getting a therapist and Joe sighs. When they go to bed, Joe thinks about the door and Pete has to physically stop him for him not to go check it.

"Let me," Joe says. "Let me."

"I'm not going to," Pete murmurs, hot breath against Joe's ear, because he doesn't want this to spiral into a cycle again. He hugs him tight, his arms wrapped around his stomach, and Joe is almost writhing.

Joe stops himself from saying everything he's thinking. 'But we'll get robbed and working at a restaurant won't be enough and we won't be able to pay rent and—'. He's so stupid, and he starts crying softly, silent tears coming out of his eyes.

"Are you crying? Shit, Joe, I—" Pete starts, his voice tainted with worry. He kisses his neck again, and then his jaw, and then his lips. Joe doesn't respond to any of the kisses. He stays still, except for the small movements as he cries. "I'm sorry, baby," the older boy says. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Joe murmurs, his tongue between his teeth. "It's okay." He doesn't turn around so Pete can see his eyes and he doesn't kiss Pete good night. Joe falls into a fretful sleep, and Pete doesn't sleep at all that night.

The entire next day, Pete sleeps and sleeps. Joe just wakes him up an hour before his therapy appointment to tell him to take his meds. Pete nods as he takes the pill with the water, and he gets up as Joe makes himself bread with ham.

As Joe ends eating it he goes to the car and he checks three times that the door is locked. He drives to the medical center and he asks for the only therapist for adults there. There's fifteen minutes until she's free, and he hopes he can see her in that time.

When her patient is out Joe enters. She asks him about his family, about what he wants to treat with her, and he zones out as he answers. My name's Joe, I'm twenty two, I have a boyfriend, I haven't talked to my mom in two years and my dad left when I was young.

"What brings you here, Joe?" she asks. She introduced herself as Elisa Yao, and Joe swears he knows her from somewhere. He can't bring himself to exactly pinpoint her, but she knows that maybe she was close with one of his friends. He associates her with Patrick, in all honesty.

Joe bites his lip. "I have OCD. And it's been getting worse, so I thought..." he trails off. Elisa nods, almost telling him to continue. "I thought you'd be of help."

"What are your compulsions?" she asks. She goes right to the question, and Joe thinks she could work as his therapist.

The rest of the appointment is a blur on Joe's mind, how she asks the right questions and that she mentions a form of therapy. Exposure and Response Prevention, or ERP for short. He thinks maybe it could work, but the idea of having to deal with his obsessions and not responding with a compulsion makes his skin itch.

The next week his therapy really starts. They fall silent for a few minutes, almost waiting for him to get an intrusive thought, when he straightens up and his mind starts swirling. "Pete," he breathes. "He's in danger. He's gonna die."

Pray, pray, pray, his mind starts frantically. Elisa looks at him with all the determination in the world and he bites his lip so hard he draws blood. But he stops himself from praying to a god he doesn't even believe in— he stopped being religiously Jewish a long time ago.

"He's okay, Joe," Elisa says, her voice gentle, and Joe almost rips part of his hair out. He needs to do something, he needs to pray, he needs to make sure he'll be safe. He's gonna die if I don't pray. "You should text him rather than give in to your compulsions."

Joe nods imperceptibly, and he establishes eye contact with Elisa for a bit. He thinks of stabbing her eye and he winces. What the fuck is up with my brain. He takes his phone from his pocket and he types in a message. "pete? are you okay?"

The response takes two minutes, and it's enough for Joe to be convinced he's dead. It's all your fault, his mind seems to be saying. "i'm fine, why? i thought you were in therapy?"

"i am" Joe texts back. "i just wanted to know. thank you". He looks back to Elisa with a smile on his lips, trying to ignore the thoughts of Pete actually lying. Maybe he's being kidnapped. Maybe— "Shut up!" he hisses.

Elisa raises an eyebrow, Joe apologizes. They keep talking about things while he deals with his thoughts, and he tries his best to not give in and pray in his head.

A month later he has an appointment with his psychiatrist. His name is Adam Siska and he's easily the youngest psychiatrist he's ever met.

"Hey, Joe! Are you doing alright? Elisa told me you started having appointments with her."

"Well, I was doing kind of bad but with ERP and her help it's getting better. I feel like I need an up of my dose, though."

"Is it not helping your compulsions and obsessions?" Adam asks as they sit down in front of each other. Joe jiggles his leg, a bit nervous.

"Yeah," he nods. "My intrusive thoughts are quite... bad, and it's hard controlling the impulse to follow through my compulsions." He starts chewing on his lip and Adam nods wordlessly.

"Alright, you'll have 30mg of the same medicine, alright? Have a pill at morning and one at night. That should help." Adam sighs and messes up his own hair. "I can't up your dose a lot immediately, so we'll go from ten to ten mg if it doesn't help, alright?"

"Alright. Will it have secondary effects?"

"All medicine does," the psychiatrist nods with a half smile. "You'll feel really sleepy for the first few days, so I recommend starting to take 30mg on the weekend. Oh, and you might gain a bit of weight."

"Alright. Thanks, doc." He smiles, and he feels so much more at peace than a few months ago. "Also, uh, can I come here every month now? I feel like every two months isn't enough."

"Yeah, definitely. Let's schedule the next appointment. Today's April 23rd, so what about May 25th?" he says.

"Alright," Joe nods.

When he comes back home Pete tackles him into a hug and he laughs. "Pete, get off me!" Pete has this crazy, big smile that screams manic episode, and Joe realizes in silence that he hasn't reminded him to take his meds recently. Pete has never been a fan of taking them, so he usually pretends he forgot.

"I love you!" Pete says, his voice too excited as he pulls Joe to the couch. He's practically bouncing with energy, his eyes open wide and his leg jiggling. He kisses Joe from his temple to his neck to his collarbone, leaving little hickeys on his neck. "I love you, I love you!" he repeats, his tone irradiating happiness.

"You didn't take your meds," Joe says, and Pete smiles innocently. "You totally didn't."

"I threw them away," Pete confesses, but there's no hint of guilt in his voice. "I don't need them!" he says, grinning like an idiot. "I feel on top of the world, Joe!"

"Babe..." Joe says. He doesn't need this, he doesn't need for his boyfriend to be manic after him finally getting his dose up. "It's late. Do you want to go to bed?"

"Alright," Pete nods. When he's in bed, though, he turns on his phone and scrolls through his Twitter and Instagram. Joe turns around to not see the light and falls asleep rather shortly. Pete, meanwhile, doesn't sleep until six a.m., and after three hours of sleep he feels completely recharged.

Joe is still fast asleep as Pete makes himself breakfast. He eats it quickly, not minding the taste for once before going to the room where the laptop is. He turns it on and he's impatient for the screen to turn on.

He starts writing, the words coming out almost too naturally. Joe, meanwhile, gets up and goes to the drugstore. Before that he takes his and Pete's prescriptions.

He hands the druggist them and he hands him the boxes with the pills. He pays and leaves quickly. By when he's back, he hears Pete's quick steps as he kisses him sweetly. "Pete!" he says. "I got your meds."

"I don't want them," Pete pouts.

"But you need them," Joe counters. Pete kisses him again and he wraps his arms around his neck, pulling him closer and the medication boxes falling to the floor. "You're so pretty," he says, almost matter of factly.

"I know," Pete murmurs before kissing him again.

When they pull away, Pete is smiling really wide. Joe hands him his pills and he leaves them on the table. Joe sighs before taking his own. It's a Friday and he hopes he won't sleep through the entire day tomorrow.

Joe tries to convince Pete to take his meds, but he says he feels _great_ before his mania goes from euphoria to increased irritability. He's just snapping at Joe left and right, before he knows enough is enough and takes his meds.

"Alright," he says after what feels like a week of mania. He's been writing random excerpts from his book, never following a linear narrative, and he has a milkshake in hand. "I'll take my meds."

Joe smiles as the older boy swallows them with the milkshake. Pete is so stubborn, and he knows it took him days to be convinced that it's bad enough for him to take them.

They make love that night. Pete's on top, not like always, and he's grinning and laughing as he fucks him. He's almost too soft for him to be manic.

Pete doesn't feel better immediately. It's a process of a few days, and he's still mad at every little thing before he feels a lot better. He doesn't sleep just three hours and he's definitely not tired out of his mind.

"Thank you," Pete says when he wakes up, cuddling close to Joe. Joe smiles and kisses his forehead, and Pete makes a content noise. "I love you lots, angel."

"I love you too, babe," Joe says, and Pete's heart swells.

They're both fucked up, but they're perfect for each other in the most special way.


End file.
